Country Rule #101...

... Always have a can of wasp spray within easy reach when you're walking outside on your property. Not only does the wasp spray kill bees (sorry about that, I know they're necessary) and wasps and fire ants, but the spray also does wonders for small garden snakes that are hanging over a picket fence near your garage door.

I had just come out of the garage after feeding the two outside cats (who become garage cats when it's raining) and my eye caught sight of something on that picket fence... and there it was, a green and black-striped garden snake. I know they're harmless, and I know they're probably more afraid of me than I am of them (maybe, possibly) but I didn't want that snake on the fence so close to the side door of that garage. I had visions of the snake making his way up over the door and the next time I went to open that door I'd have a snake dropping on my head. (Let's not put that thought out into the universe. As it is, I don't go through any door without looking first to see what's up on the door frame.)

So how to get that snake off of the fence and away from the door..... all of the brooms and rakes were in the garage, and I didn't want to walk past the snake again to get something I could use to make him move away from that door. However... there was a can of wasp spray in the basket on the porch. I always leave a can out there, just in case bees (sorry again) and wasps get too close to the back door, which they always do.

I got the wasp spray, went back down the porch steps and took aim. Well, the snake was not at all happy. But I didn't stick around to watch his reactions... back up the porch steps I went and into the house... and when I came out a few hours later, the snake was gone. I've looked all over that particular flower bed every time I go out there, but I haven't seen the snake again, nor did I find his dead body.

I absolutely, positively hate hate hate hate with a passion all of the creatures, critters, insects, reptiles and everything else that flies, crawls, stalks or slithers on this property.

Meowy Christmas

It is five o'clock on Christmas morning as I type this. Savannah's barking woke me up and when I came downstairs I heard Mickey Kitty howling for all he was worth. I opened up the back door and saw not one but two cats sitting in the back courtyard just staring into the fenced-in coop, and there was Mickey... in the coop with his nose up against the fence and he was howling loud enough to wake up everyone in the hills here. Mickey is a very small cat and it made me laugh to see those loud sounds coming out of his tiny cat-self.

I took the flash-light and went outside and the gray/white stray who has been hanging around here ran off towards the barn, along with another cat. It was too dark in that part of the yard to see the coloring on that other cat.  Just what we need on Christmas morning... not one stray, but two.

I thought that maybe if I walked Savannah up towards the barn, those stray cats would see there's a dog here and go find another place to live. No such luck. Savannah saw the two cats by the barn and she just looked at them and wagged her tail. I guess she's so used to our own cats that one or two more won't make much difference to her. The two cats just sat there by the barn and watched me and Savannah... and Savannah sat down in the grass and looked at the cats and wagged her tail. Give me a blessed break.

Christmas morning. I am not (NOT) going to feed those stray cats. I've learned my lesson with the orange/white stray that was here for over a year and didn't do anything but cause havoc with our own two outside cats and then bit and scratched both me and my husband.

How can I not feed those stray cats on Christmas morning?

I am not (NOT) going to feed those cats.

Another stray cat...

...and that's that.

A few nights ago, we heard our outside cat Gatsby out on the porch just howling and meowing... the usual sounds that he makes when he sees a strange cat. My husband and I both went out to the porch and I saw a large gray/white cat running off towards the barn. Oh my... this is how it starts.

I brought Gatsby into the garage, and then took away the bowl of cat food that's on the porch for both Gatsby and Mickey.  My husband asked me if I wanted to bring the food to the barn for the gray/white cat, and I reminded him about our year-long struggle with that blasted orange stray cat. No way did I want to get started with another stray cat who ends up tormenting our own cats and possibly us as well.

The gray/white cat is indeed hanging around our barn... I've seen him three times now, and other than the mice and birds he may be catching over there and in the pastures, I am not (NOT) feeding him, nor am I even acknowledging that he's there. I do not (NOT) want another cat, stray or otherwise.

In our famous last words concerning pets, "the inn is full." (FULL.)

That gray/white cat was awfully large... it must be a male. I'm praying that it isn't a pregnant female, and to that end, I've walked over to the barn every couple of days to make sure there isn't a gray/white momma cat and her kittens over there.

I haven't seen that gray/white cat now in three days. I hope to the heavens that it has moved on. And on. And then some.

Pouring rain and high winds...

For the past two days and nights, that's just what we've had here in the hills... buckets of rain tumbling down in all directions and winds so fierce that the sounds were similar to a freight train passing in the night.

There are ponds and creeks all over these properties and without a doubt, everyone's pond is now filled to the brim and then some. The creeks were rising during the worst of the rain and some of the roads and little bridges got a bit flooded and filled up like the lowest concrete highways of downtown Houston.

Our annual Christmas party was last night, and except for a few people who probably stayed home because of the weather, everyone else who was invited was not only here but on time, including friends from Clear Lake. Really amazing to us... we watched that rain pouring down and my husband and I both said that possibly no one would want to be out driving in such weather. Miraculously, twenty minutes before the party was to start, the rain let up and that's when friends and neighbors started to arrive.

The worst of the rain and the high winds didn't start up again till about an hour after the party ended, giving our nearby neighbors more than enough time to get home, and even our friends from Clear Lake were able to drive home without having to deal with flooded roads and lane-changing winds.

I fully expected to see ducks out in the ponds this morning, but I guess yesterday's rain and winds kept them away from the local ponds, unless they were already here to begin with. I did see lots of little green frogs today on the porch railings and on the windowsills.  As I walked around the porch to check on the Christmas lights, the frogs just watched me, not willing to give up their dry spots underneath those railings.

The temperature during all the rainy days was up in the high 70s. With the dry weather coming in, the cooler temperatures followed and this morning had to be at least 15 degrees cooler. We've been lucky so far this 'winter,' with very warm temps and lots of sun, like a second-Spring. Is it too much to hope for that this second-Spring sticks around until the 'real' Spring comes around in March?

Skunks happen.

Wonderful. There must be a skunk living in our barn. For the third night in a row now, I've seen a skunk coming out of our barn when I'm walking Savannah at night. Lucky me.

Savannah saw that skunk tonight as well, and she started growling under her breath as she lunged for it. Thankfully, I saw the skunk first and I was holding her leash extra tight so she wouldn't get away from me. Just what I need... a puppy getting sprayed by a skunk. And all that nonsense about tomato juice taking away the stink of a skunk is just that-- nonsense.

The skunk was just walking calmly out of the barn as if he owned it, and I guess, given the god-awful spray of a skunk, what other animal would want to argue with him about his residency in the barn? Actually, the skunk looked quite pretty with that long bushy tail... I was keeping an eye on that tail of his--- when the tail goes up, the spray comes out, but Savannah and I were far enough away from the skunk that I don't think the spray would have caught us... but I wouldn't have wanted to test that theory.

There have been mornings when I open the back door and I can smell the odor of a skunk, so I guess the skunk comes out of our barn, walks around our property and the surrounding ones, then goes back into hiding before the sun comes up.

So far in that barn, we've had armadillos, possums, foxes, raccoons, stray cats, countless birds, and now skunks. I should have a sign on the front of the barn that says "Welcome Wildlife and Assorted Creatures."

"The pig did it."

My husband and I were on our way home with our Christmas tree hanging out of the back of the car's trunk yesterday and we saw two dogs playing in the middle of the road. On a country two-lane highway, with the speed limit at 65, most of the cars we saw were driving either at or above that posted limit. We were driving slower because of the tree so it was easy to pull over right at the spot where the two dogs were.

There is a huge ranch on that particular road, complete with fancy stone fences and mega-bucks landscaping, and that property owner has scores of deer and elk and reindeer-like animals roaming on those countless acres. (Countless to us, but I'm sure that property owner knows his acreage down to the last millimeter.)  That old song "....where the deer and the antelope play...." comes to mind when we pass that property.

The two dogs were clearly having a grand time on that road, running and jumping and nose-to-the-ground exploring. Which is fine, but not when you're in the middle of a road. My husband pulled over to the side, right in the driveway of The Ranch, and when he called the dogs over to him, both of them happily came... a black/white Border Collie and a brown/white Pit Bull.  I was very leery of the Pit Bull, but she seemed as friendly as the male Border Collie. Both dogs were wearing collars and tags, and when the Border Collie calmed down a bit (he seemed happy to have found a person) my husband was able to read the number on his tag and use the cell phone to make the call.

The phone number went to a 'help desk' which had the dogs' information... they called the owner... the owner called my husband. She had been out looking for the dogs, couldn't find them, and had gone home to wait for them to hopefully find their way back. My husband told her he would keep the dogs with us, he explained exactly where we were on that road, and she said she'd be there in ten minutes. The Border Collie kept bringing rocks and sticks to my husband, waiting for him to throw them so they could be retrieved and brought back. Watching that black/white dog and my husband, I knew he was thinking of our old dog Gracie. (Same coloring, same intensity when playing with my husband.) We had gone to the health food store and had organic sourdough bread in the car, so my husband was rewarding the dogs' good behavior with bits of bread.

When the owner got out of her car, the Border Collie ran up to her and she said "If I wasn't so happy to see y'all, I'd be really mad at both of y'all."  The dog's owner explained to us that they had a new baby in the house and she and her husband had taken the baby to the doctor's for a monthly check-up."  When they got back to their property, the gate was open and the dogs were gone. They always close the gate, but they have a pet pig who has learned how to open up the gate, and does so frequently. For whatever reason, the dogs decided to go exploring, and off they went. The pig stayed right in the yard. We suggested to the lady that she get a pig-proof lock on her gate and we all laughed. She thanked us for stopping when we saw the dogs, for calling the number on the tags, and for keeping the dogs safe and off the road till she got there. We told her that both dogs really liked organic sourdough bread.

It was amazing to me that while we were parked off the road waiting with those dogs, plenty of cars just drove on by, none of them even slowing down when one of the dogs got too close to the road. This is supposed to be a dog-loving state. Those dogs were about ten miles away from their home, and in all of those ten miles, not one car stopped to get them away from the road? They clearly were not strays... they were healthy-looking and cared for, both wearing collars with tags.

Lessons learned..... those pet ID tags really work; Pit Bulls are only mean if they're trained to be because this particular Pit Bull was whimpering for her owner while the Border Collie was playing with my husband; pigs are smarter than you would think.

Charlotte's Mailbox

There is a spider living in our mailbox... one of those thick-looking black spiders with white dots. I've named her Charlotte, for obvious reasons (if you've read "Charlotte's Web"). The spider is not very big, maybe the circumference of a dime in size, but she's thick and sturdy-looking, sort of soft and fuzzy.

I have removed that spider at least seven times, using the edge of an envelope to lift her from the door of the mailbox and flip her onto the grass by the road. I've seen that spider land in the grass each time, but the next day she's back inside that box, just waiting for me to open the little door. "Surprise! I'm back! Did you miss me?" (Proof positive that the country air turns one's mind to applesauce... I am now making up conversations with a spider.)

I don't want to kill the spider because the white polka-dots on her black body make her look as if she should be the star character in a children's book. ("The polka-dot spider sat down beside her...")  So far, she has not attempted to build a web inside the mailbox or anywhere near it, and I have to admire her tenacity for climbing back up that post after being continually flipped into the grass. And do spiders get lonely? She's always by herself, unless she's hiding her companion in the dark recesses at the back of that mailbox. ("Here she comes! Get lost for a minute!")

I will continue to flip Charlotte into the grass when I see her, but the moment she hitches a ride on a piece of mail and ends up in the house, that's when the spider-party ends because I will smash her polka-dots flat in a split second.

More rain... more fire ants.

I truly know that we need all the rain we can get up here, and yes, it's nice that all the ponds are filled again. But honestly, do we need more fire ant mounds?  With the rain comes the countless mounds of dirt that the ever-industrious fire ants build above ground level. Those ants must work 24 hours of every blessed day in order to move so much dirt.

If you're lucky, you will see the mounds before you step on them. But sometimes, those mounds are more horizontal than vertical, and then you can barely see them unless the grass is cut very low and you happen to be looking down as you're walking. That sort of walking is a country trick--- looking down for fire ants while looking ahead for spider webs and also looking up for snakes that may happen to be stretched out on a tree branch. (My husband says I'm always 'looking for trouble.'  Well, that may be, but I'd rather see the trouble ahead and get away from it before the trouble finds me.)

We read an article on the Internet that said plain old cornstarch will kill fire ants. We tried that, and yes, it eventually did kill those ants, but it took a while. If you're patient enough, I guess enough cornstarch will kill any sort of crawling insect, but nothing beats a good shot of Raid spray.  Psssssst! You're dead! The Raid works that quickly.

I've tried to be extra careful when I'm out walking Savannah... she loves the tall grass and so far, that puppy has either stepped around or jumped over fire ant mounds. There was one morning when one of her back paws got too close to a mound and within a heart-beat, she had at least 25 ants on her paw and crawling up her leg. Savannah jumped out of that grass and stood on the road and just looked at me helplessly. I quickly took one of the plastic bags that I carry for pooper-scooping and put that bag over my right hand and then brushed the ants off of her leg. That seemed to work just fine, without me getting bitten by the ants. (I am allergic to those bites.)

The two outside cats never seem to get into the fire ants, thank goodness. I'd never find the ants on Mickey because he's solid black and the ants could quickly get lost in his fur. As for Gatsby, he's like the Cowardly Lion and he just stays away from everything unless it's in his food dish.

Our weather has been warm, which is fine with me. We've had a few cool nights and even cooler early mornings, but nothing that had me running for boots, gloves and a scarf. Speaking of boots, I need to find some warm fur-lined boots for cold-weather walking with Savannah. I have two pairs of dress boots, but I don't want to be using those to walk in the tall grass looking to pick up Savannah's poop.

When I told my husband that I was going to buy a pair of puppy-walking boots, he asked me why I couldn't just wear the boots that I have. "Those are dress boots to wear with my good jeans," I told him.

"What are you saving the good boots for?" he asked.

"I'm saving them for when we come to our senses and move back to civilization," was my answer.

He gave me that look. Men just don't understand certain things, with women's shoes being near the top of that list.

Frogs and worms...

... and heaven only knows what else is out there in the dark that I am not seeing. Sometimes ignorance is indeed bliss.

Walking Savannah after dark has gotten to be a challenge. I don't leave the driveway and walk this puppy on the road after dark, and I'm glad there's enough grass next to the driveway for her to inspect and choose for her nightly 'business.' However... tonight before I even got to the driveway, there was a long worm on the stones of the walkway... at least 16" long would be my guess, and unfortunately, I stepped on the stupid thing before I knew it was there. Good grief.

My husband bought me an easy-to-hold and very bright flash-light to bring outside with me after it gets dark. My mistake tonight, however, was not shining that light down onto the paving stones before I crossed them. Had I done that, I could have side-stepped that blasted worm. As it happened, my foot was on the worm when the light hit the stones and there I was, one foot on a stone and one foot on this ridiculously long worm.... and by that time, not only was the damage done to the worm but I had to lift my foot off of that blasted thing and hope that he wasn't heading in the same direction I was. Good grief. Just the thought...

Luckily, the worm was somewhat injured when I stepped on him, and I saw him trying to move the back half of his body so it could keep in pace with the front half of his body. I'm cringing as I type this.  I don't know where the worm went and what happened to him, because by the time Savannah was finished in the grass by the driveway, that worm was nowhere to be found on the paving stones. I hope he doesn't go off into the tall grass and keep growing till he's three feet long.

However... in searching for that worm so I wouldn't step on him a second time, I missed seeing a brown frog on another one of those stones. Thankfully, that frog saw both me and Savannah and he jumped out of our way and went off into the grass, but not before scaring me so much that I nearly screamed out loud right there on the walkway. I'm not afraid of the frogs... they're sort of cute, actually, but that one on the walkway surely wouldn't have been so cute had I stepped on him. Good grief.

Will there ever be an end to the critters and crawlers and slithery things that are out there after dark? Probably not. I will never get used to this. I'm doomed.

The headless duck...

... and no, that's not a typo.

As I was walking Savannah yesterday, along with JAS and her little Bella, Savannah saw something in the tall grass by the road behind our barn and I had to quickly pull her away from it because I didn't know what it was. There in the grass, it just looked like a black mound of something either immobile or dead, and I didn't want Savannah near it. So I pulled her away and JAS went into the grass to investigate. When she moved it over with her foot,  we could clearly see the feathers.

Neither one of us had seen ducks in our ponds recently, even now with the ponds being filled up after last weekend's deluge of rain. But just because we hadn't actually seen any ducks didn't mean that they weren't around. This particular duck was black with either blue or green feathers near his back. And the duck was also missing its head. Pulled clean off and nowhere near the rest of the body. So gross.

JAS said that it was most likely a raccoon... it went hunting, was able to catch the duck, and then pulled its head off to kill it (raccoons do the same thing with chickens). Why the raccoon chose to abandon its dinner was beyond us... the duck was a good size and it looked faintly "fresh" so there had to be a good reason why said raccoon became distracted from his dinner.

We just left the dead duck right where we found it. JAS told me that coyotes would come by to "take care of it in the middle of the night."

I repeat: So gross.

Living the high life...

How much rain did we get this past weekend?

This much:  We have an arbor out by the chicken coop that is about eight feet high. On top of the wood slats of that arbor are five birdhouses, a few of which were there when we moved here, and a couple of them made by my husband.

When I went out towards the coop this morning (because the sun is shining and the rain has gone elsewhere) I looked up at the birdhouses and peeking out of one of them was a little green frog. He had to climb up the post and then walk across the wood slats in order to get into that birdhouse, and for a little frog less than three inches long, I'd say that was similar to a Mount Everest-ish attempt.

And a successful one. I don't know how long he had been sheltered in that birdhouse, but this morning, his little green head was peeking out of the little hole in the front and the sun was shining on that frog and he looked perfectly content as he watched me going back and forth to the coop. So comfortable was that frog that I was able to go into the house and tell my husband to come outside with the camera...... and the frog was still there, basking in the sun in his penthouse above the yard... living the dream.

Got armadillo?

After days and days of trying to catch an armadillo that has been digging holes in the flowerbeds, we woke up to a nice surprise this morning: one armadillo in the catch/release trap. We're pretty sure it's the same one that's been here for a while because my husband set the trap by the barn where the armadillo had made his home.

Right now, the armadillo's new home is at the lake. My husband drove him there this morning, in the pouring rain, and released him near the lakeside so he can begin his new adventure with waterfront living. Armadillos are not the brightest of creatures. Even after my husband opened the door of that cage this morning, the armadillo made no effort to get out of it and go on his way. My husband had to literally turn the trap sideways and upside-down to force the armadillo to walk out of the wire cage.

Savannah woke me up twice this morning with very low barking, and I think that she heard the trap close on the armadillo, and then heard the armadillo struggling to get out of the trap. Those traps don't hurt the animals they catch, but they make a loud noise when the door slams shut, and I'm sure that Savannah was able to hear that.

It's been raining -- pouring -- all day long here, with just little windows of very light rain that I take advantage of to get Savannah out for a walk without both of us getting sopping wet. It's been a lot of years since I've had to walk a dog in the rain, and I can honestly say it's something that I didn't miss. One good thing, though... Savannah doesn't like the rain so she goes quickly out there and then we're back in the house--- after she steps and splashes in a puddle or two, which she seems to think is fun.

Flash-light to the rescue...

Heaven help me with the creatures and critters out here on this property after the sun goes down...

I had Savannah out in the grass by the back porch last night... her leash in my left hand, a flash-light in my right hand.  Not that we don't have outside lights there--- both porch lights were turned on for that side of the house, but still, the flash-light comes in handy for up-close peeking under the bushes. Just in case anything happens to be there... I don't like surprises of the critter kind.

And that is exactly what I was doing... using the flash-light to look underneath the bushes that Savannah was directly in front of.  So intent was I on that side of the courtyard that I neglected to look on the other side of the courtyard. Silly me. I should know better by now. Especially since this was not the first time this week that I nearly stepped on an armadillo.

As I think of that moment right this minute, I'm wondering why I didn't scream into the night and then run back up the stairs with Savannah. Right there, not three inches from my foot, was an armadillo. A good-sized one, not a baby, not a medium-sized armadillo, but one that could have given Mickey Kitty a ride if I'd put a saddle on that blasted thing.

Armadillos are not the smartest creatures that were ever created, and when the armadillo saw me so close in front of him, he did what he knew how to do best: he froze in his spot, not moving, possibly pretending to be a rock. I tried to shoo him away, literally saying "Shoo! Shoo!" (proof positive that this country life is getting to me from the inside out).  The armadillo just ignored me, and continued to stand there with his eyes glued to the ground, along with his four feet. Savannah was still in the grass, just watching this four-legged silver rock standing near my foot.

What to do... what to do.  Ah... the flash-light.  I took that flash-light and bopped that armadillo right on its backside near its tail. And off he went, Hi-Ho Silver, into the night he ran, and I hope he's still running. I have to admit that his silvery shell was indeed very hard and the flash-light seemed to bounce off of him, and there's no doubt in my mind that I scared that animal more than I hurt him. And hurting him was not my intention... getting him away from me was my goal and the flash-light just happened to be the correct tool at the moment. Actually, the only tool at that particular moment.

I can see it now... I'll be an old old woman, out in the yard with a flash-light, surrounded by three thousand armadillos wanting (demanding) to know why I assaulted their great-great-great-great grandfather.  (That sentence is more proof positive that this country life is getting to me.)

Armadillos in the night...

.... and if you're not careful where you step, you could trip over one of them.  Give me a blessed break.

That's what happened last night. Correction. That's what happened in the middle of the early morning, somewhere between 1:00 and 4:00. No way to truly pinpoint the time because I've had interrupted sleep these past two nights and both nights have blurred into one. Explanation:  we're on Puppy Time in this house.

But back to the armadillo. A slow-moving ridiculous-looking creature, and why the state of Texas chose that particular animal to be its State Animal is just beyond me. They're stupid and brainless and totally cowardly and that's what the Texas Powers That Be wanted as a recognized state-wide symbol? Once again: Give me a blessed break.

So there we were in the middle of the night, under a sky filled with zillions of stars, and I guess I was looking up at the stars and not looking down on the courtyard... and when my feet got to within six inches of a living breathing slow-moving armadillo I happened to look down and the flashlight beam was shining right into those beady eyes of that animal and that's when the armadillo decided it had better move... and so it did... nearly taking my left arm with it because Savannah's leash pulled that arm as she started to run towards the escaping armadillo and thankfully I had the presence of mind to hold tight to that leash because Savannah would probably still be running after that miserable critter. (And yes, that's a very good example of a run-on sentence but I don't rightly care.)

But on the bright side... the stars are glorious out here in this Country Bubble in the middle of the night. The sunrises have been exceptionally beautiful, and the sunsets are Van Gogh-worthy.  And I've seen them all these past four weeks. Explanation: we're on Puppy Time in this house.

Coyotes in the night...

... every night, every blessed night. And our new puppy Savannah believes she has to bark at every coyote she hears, no matter the time.  We wanted her to bark when she hears unusual noises, and she's doing just that. However, I'm hoping that she soon learns that coyotes howling at two o'clock in the morning is just about as usual as a noise can get out here in the hills.

As a result of last night's (early morning, actually) barking-at-the-coyotes at 1:45, 4:15, and 5:30, Savannah has been sleeping for most of the day. I wish I could say the same, but I'm not typically a day-time-sleeping sort of person, and for me to even take a nap in the middle of the day I have to be either sick or up-all-night the night before.

So as I type this, the coyotes are somewhere off in the woods sleeping, and Savannah is sound asleep near the little table in the breakfast room. She has barely played with her toys today, and except for some barking at the handyman who's outside helping my husband, Savannah has been resting and/or sleeping inbetween her morning walk and her noon-time walk.  I think if I just relax in this chair and put my head back, I could easily fall asleep myself, but I'm fighting that because then I won't be able to sleep tonight.

There have been a lot of coyotes lately, more so than usual, on many more nights than usual. And most of them sound very close, as if they're right out in the backyard here. I've been letting Gatsby sleep in the house on most nights, even though he's smart enough to hide when he hears the howling of the coyotes. And Mickey is safely tucked away in the garage and the coop at night, so he's fine.

If I can just convince Savannah that barking at the coyotes is a waste of her puppy-time, we'd all get a good night's sleep around here.

The Birds and The Cats...

... and I'm sure there are some Bees out there as well.

As I type this, both outside cats (Mickey and Gatsby) are sound asleep on the table on the side of the back porch. We bought that table and two chairs at a flea market a few years ago, with the intention of having breakfast and lunch out there when the weather was nice enough. Problem with having meals outside was that when the temperature was too hot, we were just too uncomfortable. (Living in Texas gets you accustomed to air-conditioning very quickly.) And when the temperature was cooler, that meant it was windy and who wants the dust from the pastures blowing over one's lunch plate?

So we hardly used that table at all, and the cats took it over. I keep a tablecloth on it to make the old table look nicer, and then I put two of their pillow-beds out there to make the cats more comfortable and both Mickey and Gatsby jump on the chairs, then jump on top of the table, and settle into their beds for a nap.

As I passed the back window just now, both Mickey and Gatsby are sound asleep, mirror images of themselves, all curled up into that comma-shape that cats do so well and so often. On the porch railing, right near that table, there are two wrens just sitting there and watching the cats sleep. Those two particular wrens have taken over one of the nests made by our ever-returning barn swallows, and every evening the wrens settle into that same nest, but only after they perch on the railing for a while to study the cats.

Mickey must not see the wrens because without a doubt, he would be trying to capture them. Not to kill them, but to play with them and then let them go. The only thing he kills are the tiny geckos, which he eats. As if Fancy Feast isn't good enough for that cat? And Gatsby, even if he did see the wrens, he wouldn't bother them at all. I think he's wise enough to know that he's too old and too heavy to run and catch them so he doesn't even try. Gatsby is just content to watch the world go by and just be an observer of his universe.

Mega-Cricket

A larger-than-usual cricket has found a home near our walkway and I guess I should be thanking my lucky country stars that it's nothing worse than a cricket.  He is there every night without fail, nestled between the wrought iron ears of a decorative horse-head that's near the driveway. This cricket is about as long as my index finger and just about the same size in circumference. My hands are not huge and my fingers aren't big, but still, this is a cricket and that size just seems ridiculous.

When we had chickens, we hardly ever saw crickets at all except for the ones that the hens would jump up to clench in their beaks and then proceed to swallow as a mid-morning snack. We never saw crickets any larger than a small paper clip back then because the hens gobbled them all up before they had a chance to grow. (I do miss the chickens for their insect-eating abilities even though I did think that habit was disgustingly gross.)

And now, we have Jiminy Cricket himself perched outside near our walkway and he seems to have found a home that he likes. Lucky me. I wouldn't have noticed him out there at all had it not been for my new schedule of puppy-walking.  I take Savannah out for a walk along the road before it gets dark and there's that cricket, sitting there inbetween the horse's ears and I can even see the cricket's head moving as his eyes follow us as we go down the walkway then along the driveway towards the road.

There is plenty of room on that horse-head for more than one cricket. One of these evenings, I know I'll be walking out there and instead of one cricket there will be two and soon after that there may be an entire cricket family between those wrought-iron ears. Well, as I said... I should be thanking my lucky country stars that it's only a cricket.

Hiding out...

There is a baby gecko somewhere in my kitchen.  And how do I know this?  Because I saw it last night, crawling on the tile back-splash behind the sink... small and with pink skin that was nearly see-through in its infancy.

My husband would have taken a plastic container, placed it over the gecko, then used a piece of paper to slide under the open part of the container so the gecko would have been captured within the plastic and then he would have gone outside and let it loose in the flowerbed. Well, that method is just not for me. I'm not a capture-and-release sort of girl... I don't want to capture anything... and to release it just gives the critter another chance to get back into the house.   I got the Dust-Buster thing out, planning to just scoop up the gecko.

And that's what I tried to do... except when I had that little vacuum-thing in my hand, the baby gecko turned his head around and looked me square in the eyes, seemingly pleading with me to spare his little gecko life. Oh, give me a break... for a second there, I got a little soft. Then I thought of how many places in my kitchen that gecko could hide and one day I'd be holding a fragile plate of cake for our tea parties and the gecko would pop his little head out and scare me to death and the plate would go flying and shatter into a zillion pieces and I'd be cleaning up bits of cake for days. (My imagination tends to run wild at times.)

So I turned on that Dust-Buster will all intentions to scoop up that gecko... and he ran... with that disjointed and lightning-fast pace of geckos the world over. He managed to run right across the back-splash, behind the little television that's in the corner of the counter-top, and from there, I have no idea where he went. He went into hiding last night and he's nowhere to be found this morning. And he's little enough to fit just about anywhere, and right now I don't even want to take the lid off of the butter dish that I left on the counter because what if the baby gecko is in there, licking up the soft butter and instead of having pinkish skin he now looks like a tiny flat buttercup with four legs and a tail....

There are just too many species of insects out here, not to mention the wildlife that walks all over our property after the sun goes down. We either have a big skunk or a small raccoon that's been visiting the yard every night for the past couple of weeks... and I know he's been here because he leaves his 'calling card' at the edge of the driveway every night and I pick it up so we don't step in it.

Honestly, it's always, always something. The hardest thing to keep around here is one's peace of mind.

And along came a spider...

This must be the year of the banana spiders. I've not only seen way too many of them, but I've also tolerated their huge webs in places where they're not in my way. These spiders are black and yellow, and I don't know what their actual textbook name is, but everyone around here calls them banana spiders because of their yellow coloring. The webs of the banana spiders are usually very big, and they make a zig-zag design in the center of the web, as if it's their signature on an original work of web-art.

There was one web last month by the steps coming up to the back porch. It wasn't in my way but the web was so huge, and it was right behind a wisteria bush that the birds happen to love.  I think the birds kept flying in and out of that wisteria and destroying part of the spider's web every day because the spider was constantly in a state of frantic renovation. After a couple of weeks of daily re-building, the spider finally moved its web to the side of the wisteria, out of the flight path of the birds.

Another banana spider web is near the spot where we keep the trash cans. I know the web is there, so I'm careful when I put trash in the cans, and also when I wheel the cans out to the curb. I don't want to be trailing a sticky web behind me which would probably upset the spider a great deal. Last thing I need is a spider with a vendetta against me.

Yet another banana spider has made its web by the front porch steps, and one part of the web is attached near the faucet to the water hose by the side of those steps. I have to be very careful turning that faucet on and off when I water the flowers out front, because that web is in such a place that my chin could easily land in the web if I wasn't paying attention.  When I turned on that faucet to water the marigolds this morning, that spider was sitting in the middle of the web and its legs were curling towards me in a come-hither sort of way. I literally said out loud "Do I look like a fly to you?" (That's what country life has led to... talking to spiders.)

So there I was, watering the marigolds... and I happened to look down because our outside cat Gatsby was sitting by my feet.... and I saw a banana spider on the stones of the front courtyard, calmly making its way up the path and coming towards me. Now... this is where I draw the line.

First of all, I credit myself for not screaming. One banana spider moving along the ground just seems much scarier than three others tucked up in their webs, and even though I didn't scream, I did yell out "What in the hell.....?!" And then, with hose in hand, I created a tsunami of water that sent that blasted spider skidding along the stones of the courtyard and I didn't stop the deluge till he had tumbled under the fence and into the pasture.

So there. Let that be a lesson to all banana spiders who don't stay where they belong (in their webs). If any spider, banana or otherwise, happens to get in my path and mess with my somewhat limited peace of mind that has been consistently shattered with wildlife and insect encounters, let it be known that I will do everything in my power to regain control of my little country bubble of sanity.

Country yard sale...

A friend of one of our tea ladies had a yard sale yesterday morning... their property is up on the main highway so it was just a short mile-and-a-half drive. I went up there wearing flat shoes... big mistake.  The tables for the sale were set up underneath a huge tree, which seemed to have been dropping branches here, there, and everywhere. I think me and my flat shoes found 88% of them.

I used to drive around to yard sales every weekend when we lived in Clear Lake. On any given Friday or Saturday, every subdivision had at least a dozen sales, and sometimes the entire subdivision got together and had a community-wide sale.  Haven't gone to many yard sales out here because of the distance one has to drive to get to just one sale.  There were so many times when I would see a sign stuck into the ground on a corner, with an arrow pointing one way or another... I'd follow that arrow, and keep going and going, and maybe six miles down the road, I'd see another arrow. That's when I'd turn around and tell myself that the time and the gas wasn't worth the trip. So now I only go to sales given by neighbors, and yard sales within the center of town where the streets are a block long, not miles long.

I did go back to that yard sale in the afternoon, though--- wearing boots. Better for stepping on branches, and also better for walking around in that high grass. Seems to me that it would have been better for everyone had that grass been cut down before setting up for a yard sale. But that seems to be the country way.... grass is grass and it's always growing, so why keep cutting it.  I have to laugh when my husband mows our lawn here and then takes out an edger to give the concrete along the driveway a much sharper look. He likes to make it perfect.... I just don't think it's worth the time and effort out here in the Hills... no one is handing out "Yard of The Month" awards here in this country bubble.

The second stop at that yard sale resulted in an armful of books and boxed note cards, plus a few accessories for possible Halloween costumes next month. I look around my house and see paintings and porcelain and decorative items that I bought at yard sales years ago... and all of my vintage wicker furniture came from moving sales. I miss all those great yard sales back in Clear Lake, especially since going to them provided 95% of my inventory for my spaces in an antique co-op store.

Farmyard in the kitchen....

I was beginning to wonder why the kitchen got to smelling like the outside fields.... and then I realized that the odor wasn't coming from the new puppy Savannah, but from the blanket in her crate. Savannah is in and out of that crate all day long, and sleeps in it at night.... so of course any little bit of odor that's on her fur or her feet will end up on the blanket.

Solution:  Wash the blanket more often, and buy extra blankets for her. Which is what I did this morning.  Savannah is getting a wardrobe of blankets: red and green polka dots, gray with white flowers, bright pink, and light green. All of them are long enough to roll up an end into a pillow-shape for her, being that Princess Savannah likes a pillow under her chin for long naps.

Savannah is also getting a good selection of toys, which I've put into a basket.... and which she diligently takes out. The blue monkey is her favorite, but she has a pink pig, an orange fish, a brown monkey, a pink 'Peep' bunny, and a blue fish. So many choices.... if I can get her to put the toys back into the basket when she's done, it would be a big accomplishment.

The property across the road with the goats... the neighbor has been repairing the low spots in the fencing over there, and the goats haven't escaped lately. Savannah knows they are over there, and when we walk down the road, she stops to watch them munching on the grass. I thought she would be pulling on the leash to get over there to the goats, but she's been exceptionally good, content just to watch the goats, not herd them.

All is well out here in the hills of the countryside... and Savannah has brought a whole new dimension to this country bubble.

New Puppy = New Blog

So much to write about this new puppy... so of course I couldn't sleep last night and came downstairs after midnight to type.  I've started a new Blog which will be all about Savannah.  To get to the link, click on 'View My Complete Profile' and all of my Blog links will be there at the top of the page.

A Puppy Named Savannah.... sounds good to me for a title.  Speaking of 'sounds,' we haven't heard her bark yet... but she's just getting used to us and to the house, so maybe she doesn't have much to say right now.  Sweet Pea (our inside cat) has had a lot to say since we brought Savannah home yesterday.

Note to self: Do not (do NOT) pick up Sweet Pea when Savannah is in the room.... I now have skid marks on my neck and back, as a result of Sweet Pea trying to get away from Savannah, whose only insult to that cat was to look at him with a big sweet puppy smile.

Blue Bell Ice Cream

When you live up here, there just is no other ice cream. That's the rule. Or so we're told. (I'm a city girl, from Long Island. I don't usually follow all of the rules. That being said...

In the dark of night.... trucks from the Blue Bell ice cream factory were on the road after midnight, delivering this state's famous and favorite ice cream.  For the time being, just four varieties of Blue Bell are available: Dutch Chocolate, Homemade Vanilla, The Great Divide, and Cookies 'n Cream.  The Blue Bell company is still recovering (and most likely still reeling) from an outbreak of 'listeria' in their factories, which closed all three of their ice cream factories for the past eight months or so.

From what I hear in the Hills here, the local Blue Bell factory is not yet open and producing ice cream. They had to re-vamp, re-furbish, re-do and modernize everything in the Brenham factory, from floor to ceiling and everything in-between.  As a result of that, the factory in the Hill Country is still closed, and we have no idea yet when that facility will be opening.

The pints and half-gallons of Blue Bell chocolate and vanilla that swept into the local stores last night came from their factory in Alabama. But the residents up here, who were lined up along the dark roads last night, with balloons hovering in the air, whistles and applause greeting the Blue Bell drivers... they didn't care where the ice cream came from...... they were just happy as can be to see the trucks with the much-loved Blue Bell logo. ("We eat all we can, and sell the rest.")

When the Powers That Be at Blue Bell decided to pull all of their ice cream from the supermarket freezers and close their factories, there were signs up all over town saying "We Support Blue Bell." Those same signs were also posted on the empty ice cream freezers in the local supermarkets.  Those freezers stayed empty for weeks and weeks, in the hope that Blue Bell would make a quick recovery and commence making ice cream again.

When they took the "We Support Blue Bell" signs down, those were replaced with a very nice letter from the Blue Bell people, saying that they deeply regretted having to close down their factories, but they would do their best to make quick work of the re-outfitting of the factories and they hoped to be pumping out fresh and delicious Blue Bell as soon as possible.  Well, most of the Spring and then the entire Summer just went on by.... and those letters from Blue Bell had been taken down from the freezer doors and those empty shelves were filled with other brands of ice cream and frozen foods.

On any given day in the local supermarkets during these past months, you could expect a road-block in the ice cream aisle... customers were just standing in front of those freezers filled with every sort of ice cream imaginable, except Blue Bell, and no one seemed to know what to buy.  I don't think the Hill Country towns were selling much ice cream at all for these past months.

But now, Blue Bell is back...... and I've got a feeling that whoever went out last night to line up along the streets to watch those trucks make their first deliveries and then stood in the dark to cheer the drivers.... those people have probably already emptied out the freezers of the chocolate and vanilla Blue Bell.  The Blue Bell Company was requesting that stores have a limit of four containers of ice cream to each customer, so everyone would have a chance to once again enjoy the ice cream from their favorite company.

It will take a while for Blue Bell to make enough ice cream to fully stock all the freezers of the supermarkets around the south and southwestern parts of this country...  and in time, they'll once again be making everyone's favorite flavors.... and it seems to me that people here in the Hill Country are extremely loyal not only to Blue Bell, but loyal to their favorite flavor of Blue Bell ice cream.

I was not one of the crowd last night that turned out in the dark to welcome back the Blue Bell trucks. I did not plan to be at the supermarket today to buy ice cream.  I'm happy that Blue Bell is back in business.... I hope that everyone who lost their jobs has the opportunity to get them back.... and I hope the Blue Bell factories are never again plagued with any sort of outbreak other than a crowd of ice cream lovers trying to decide which flavor to buy.

Got goats?

Actually, no, we don't have goats, but it seems that at least once a week I am out there on the road chasing the neighbor's goats. Give me a blessed break.

Three days in a row this week, all of the neighbor's goats have either jumped over his fences or crawled underneath them. And where do they end up? On our property, munching on the tall grass or making their way towards our pond. Yesterday, two of the larger goats were up on their hind legs underneath our Live Oak trees, happily munching on the lower branches.

Out I went yesterday and the day before, armed with the air-horn. The goats absolutely hate the sound of that thing, and so do I. But it works. And it beats having to take my car out of the garage to start the goat-convoy going back down the hill and up to the neighbor's property. Just one blast of that air-horn and the goats retreat back down towards their own property.  (They know where they live... why don't they just stay over there?)

This afternoon, I was reading in the breakfast room and heard the unmistakable sound of the neighbor's muffler-less truck coming up our road. I looked out the kitchen window, and there were his goats, grazing in the tall grasses along the side of our road. Being that the neighbor was out there, I didn't even go outside to the porch..... let him take care of his own damn goats for a change.

And that's what the neighbor did, along with the help of a black and white straggly-looking dog. Heaven help that dog..... when the neighbor gets tired of him, the dog will disappear, which has happened to quite a few of his dogs since we've been here. (The goats disappear also, onto his dinner plate, but I've no idea what he does with the dogs, nor do I want to know.)

Minus one orange cat....

.... and one peacock.  And no, that is not a complaint.

I've seen the peacock, whom I had christened Mr. Carson.... his blue-and-green feathered self is down the hill at his rightful owners, back where he belongs with the constantly increasing flock of chickens on that property.  It's strange that we haven't heard Carson's love-sick calls as the sun sets every night. Maybe they found him a female companion and he no longer has the urge to roam around the neighboring properties.

As for the orange cat.... I could have sworn I heard a cat out on the porch the other night. I did not, however, come downstairs and put the lights on to see if it was indeed that blasted orange cat. I have a new rule now.... I am not (NOT) going to feed stray cats. Period. End of story. Not going to feed stray cats. (Unless, of course, the stray happens to be a long-haired blue-eyed Birman who steals one's heart in a second and then proceeds to break it into pieces for years and years.)

Driving into town one day this past week, I did see two orange cats up at one of the other properties near the main highway. That particular property raises and trains horses, which means they have a lot of barns, which means they have a lot of mice.... which also means they always have an array of cats up there to control the mice. Mostly all of their cats happen to be orange and white. And the orange/white stray that was holding our porch hostage for a year and a half could very well have come from that particular property.  I'm hoping now that he has gone back to whence he came.  I'm sure he was disappointed that I wasn't here every night to feed him at ten o'clock... and he wouldn't have accepted my excuse of touring castles and cathedrals and gardens in England.

We do have a new resident on the side of the porch... a huge black and yellow spider that I'm calling Charlotte. She is huge, and getting larger with each insect meal she's been consuming.... her web is enormous, and looks very pretty with a smattering of morning dew on it. Problem with the location of her web is that the barn swallows tend to fly right through it as they pop in and out of the wisteria bush near the back steps... which damages part of Charlotte's web... which gets that poor spider into a re-decorating frenzy at least twice a day.

Oh well.... Charlotte will survive the constant renovations... the birds are quick enough not to get caught in the web themselves... Mr. Carson may have a blue-and-green feathered lady-friend down at the bottom of the hill... and life goes on, with or without that blasted orange cat.

News from the back porch...

Getting settled in after our ten day trip to the British countryside.  In my mind's eye, I can still see all those narrow winding roads and the thatched-roof cottages surrounded by lovingly-tended gardens.

When we first walked up the stairs to the back porch, I noticed that the spider web was still there... the spider (a black and yellow one) had started it the day before we left for England. Not only was the web still there, but it's much larger than it was on the morning we left. The spider is also getting larger, feasting on flies and crickets and other bugs that keep getting stuck in that web. I've named the spider "Charlotte," of course.... which tells you I'm a fan of E.B. White's books.  I go up and down those porch steps all day long, and the spider web is not in my way so I'm leaving it just where it is. I'm sure the spider is pleased.... and I'm wondering just how big that spider will grow.  (If you don't find current entries in this blog, then you'll know I'm stuck in Charlotte's web.)

The porch is minus one cat..... the orange/white stray hasn't been on the porch since we got home. Wonder of wonders, there is a god.  That blasted cat was used to getting food late at night, every night, so without me being here, his orange/white tummy must have been empty and my guess is that he moved on to another property. Happy day indeed.  Both Gatsby and Mickey have been napping on the porch since we got home, instead of sleeping under the bushes and trying to avoid the orange cat. That blasted cat had been here for a year and a half, and in all that time, he never did learn proper manners. So I guess all my neighbors here were right... they told me a long time ago to quit feeding him and he would go away.  Lesson learned:  Do not feed a stray cat unless you want to make him part of your family.

It's been over 100 degrees since we've been home, and our friends tell us that it was way over 100 degrees for all the days we were gone.  During our stay in England, we were enjoying Spring-like weather with temperatures never going above 78 degrees. There were days that felt very cool to me, and I bought a very popular English-style scarf to wrap around my neck. I love that scarf.... hand-woven and colorful, and I know I will wear it a lot here during the cooler weather... which should come around late November.

Thanks to friend C, our house was sparkling and welcoming when we got home, and the cats were safe and happy, both inside and outside.  Staying in the quaint but small British Bed and Breakfast homes makes one appreciate our spacious rooms and large bathrooms.  Driving along the British countryside also makes one appreciate the wide roads here in the states.   However, the farmlands in England are pristine and neat, gorgeously planted and tended, with ancient stone walls surrounding the fields.  The British can teach us all a thing or two about having pride-of-place in one's surroundings.

Back at the ranch....

We were gone for ten days.... flew to London and rented a car and drove around The Cotswolds.  This was our second trip "across the pond," having gone to London last year and loved it so much we decided to see the English countryside on this trip.

The entire time we were there, I didn't even give a split-second thought to spiders and scorpions, coyotes and snakes...... never crossed my mind.  Except for a few bees in the gardens and a tiny spider on the steering wheel of the car, that was the closest encounter I had to the insect world.

I don't know what it is about England... peaceful and serene in the country villages, lively and eclectic in the cities.  I must have seen at least a dozen thatched-roof cottages that I would have wanted to spend the rest of my life in... provided, of course, that they had a library big enough to hold all of my books.

Driving the car there was an adventure for my husband... steering wheel on the right side of the car, driving on the left side of the road. Took him a couple of days to get the hang of that.... and even for me, sitting in the passenger seat on the left side of the car, it felt strange not to have a steering wheel in front of me.

In the midst of our trip, we met a friend of mine that I've known since the 1970s.... we spent the day in a quiet village, exploring an ancient Abbey and its gardens, walking around the tiniest of streets with the most charming shops, and having "Bubble and Squeak" for lunch at a truly English cafe. After not seeing J for at least 30 years, but keeping in touch with letters and cards and eMails, spending the day with her felt as if we'd seen one another just last week.

I'd go back to England in a heartbeat.... back to London to walk around all of the museums again... back to the Cotswold villages with the tiny shops and winding streets and tea rooms and bookshops wherever you look.  I love it there, all of it... the bookshops of Charing Cross Road, the market squares in the tiny villages, the storybook cottages, the beautifully tended gardens, the graciousness of the British... whatever you're looking for in England, you will find it there.

We came back to a clean house and happy cats, thanks to friend C who took care of everything while we were gone. After ten days of Spring-like weather in England, it was 106 degrees when we got off the plane in Austin. Very hot, extremely hot, and it didn't rain a drop the whole time we were gone. Dog days of August indeed. Welcome back to Texas.

Year of The Yellow-Jackets

For some unknown country reason, the hoards of wasps have been replaced by millions of yellow-jackets this summer.  We still can see wasp nests here and there around the property, but it's the nests of yellow-jackets that have taken over every blessed spot you can think of. Under the eaves of the cottage, under a chair in the coop, over the garage door, and right smack on the side of the house, for goodness sake.

My husband got on the roof the other day to spray the nests that were under the upstairs windows, and when I saw at least a dozen yellow-jackets flying out from underneath that chair in the coop, I knew there had to be at least a hundred more... and there were, along with the eggs they had laid in those honeycomb nests they construct. The worst and most sting-iest things in the insect world can build the most intricate nesting spots.

The handyman has been spraying the palm trees before trimming them, and more often than not, he'll find a nest or two buried under the fronds. Now that those trees have been trimmed and look more controlled, maybe the wasps and yellow-jackets will find other places to build their nests. Hopefully, on someone else's property.

So far, knock wood, we haven't seen a snake up on the porch this summer. However, summer weather continues on through September and October here, so there's still time for one to make an appearance. (As I said: knock wood.)  The snakes could be staying away because of that orange cat, who's spending more and more time on the porch these days. He hasn't gone off gallivanting and looking for a girlfriend lately, come to think of it.  I still have the cat-carrier on the porch, just waiting for him to get into it for a nap...... then I'll shut that door and take that blasted cat to the shelter.  I doubt very much that's going to happen... he's been in that carrier before and it wasn't a happy experience for him, so the odds of him going near that carrier are against all kitty-reason. There's no picking up that cat because he would claw my arms to shreds in a heartbeat. I still walk around the porch holding a spray-bottle filled with water, to keep him away from my legs.

This coming November will be two years for that cat..... two years of feeding him, two years of him wandering off and probably getting female cats pregnant because he hasn't been fixed, and two years' worth of trying to avoid getting scratched by him.  Gatsby and Mickey (our two outside cats) still haven't accepted that cat and will howl and hiss at him from time to time.

So if my own cats don't trust that stupid orange stray cat, how in the world can I?  No matter how long he stays around here, he'll always be that 'orange stray cat.'  (And if you're out there thinking that all I need to do is stop feeding him, think again. I've tried that many times.... that blasted cat just gets meaner when he's hungry.)

Busy week...

Lots going on here... the hay has been mowed and raked, and as I type, the bales are popping out of that machine that's been going up and down the pastures all morning.  How that man can work out there in this hot sun is just beyond me... and our property is not the only one he cuts.  I cannot imagine even wanting to get out of bed in the morning if I knew I'd be sitting on a hot tractor in the hot sun and mowing down and baling up hay.

Our handyman R has been here for most of the week, cutting and trimming palm trees, pulling weeds out of flowerbeds, putting down new mulch, and re-arranging the big rocks along the borders. As fast as my husband can get the mulch from the re-cycle plant in town, the handyman can spread it out and give my husband back the empty buckets.  R has been proud of the work he's done here and has promised to keep it all maintained. (From his lips to the angels' ears.)

My husband was up on the roof this morning, spraying nests of yellow-jackets. We thought they were wasps, but as they fell to the ground after one spray of 'Raid,' the yellow/black insects were clearly not as big as wasps. Just as deadly, just not as large. Actually, I don't think any of those flying/stinging things are as vicious as wasps.

The orange cat.... still here, bless his paw-swiping teeth-grabbing little heart. Just when you think you can trust that cat, he reaches out to swipe you with his claws or give you a kitty love-bite on your hand when you're trying to put his food dish on the porch.  I've put the cat-carrier back onto the porch, and so help me, if that cat goes into that carrier again and I can shut the door, I'm bringing his orange/white kitty butt to the shelter.  You would think, after all this time, that he would have learned more manners, but he's a wild cat, from the tip of his whiskers to the back of his tail.

The rain which filled up all of the ponds in the hills here has become non-existent. Not a drop of rain since I can't even remember when.... at least three weeks now.  Our pond still has a great deal of water in it... not quite up to the top, but close. We haven't had a lot of wind lately, and that helps to keep the water in the pond as well.  One of the neighbors told us a while back that the wind would make the water evaporate quicker.  Lots of turtles still in the pond, coming out to sun themselves on the rocks in the afternoon. I'm sure there are snakes in that pond as well, but I don't get close enough to it to find out. My before-moving-to-the-country dreams of having a picnic by our own pond never materialized... for the simple reason that there's just too much wildlife and too many insects to worry about.

Life in the country in these Texas hills.... wildlife and crawling things, slithering and creepy things... if anything at all can go bump in the night, it's living here in the Hill Country. Except bears. I don't think we have bears. And bears wouldn't be so bad.... at least they wouldn't be hiding in the grass and ready to bite your ankles if you got too close.

I need to stop typing... I'll be waking up with nightmares....

Snake skin, minus the snake.

I remember shopping in my favorite shoe store up in New York years ago... boxes upon boxes of shoes, thousands of styles to choose from, and one of my favorite brands designed shoes made of snake skin.  I had snake skin heels in black, navy, ivory, and a favorite pair that was black and purple. Gorgeous designer shoes, at just a bit over wholesale prices.

And this afternoon.... I went outside to water the marigolds and make sure the birds had enough water in their fountain... and there it was... a snake skin spread along the stones of the front courtyard. The skin was about three feet long, not very wide, so I'm guessing it wasn't from a huge snake. But still. I just stopped in my tracks and looked at that skin and remembered the days when I was wearing shoes made out of those skins, without so much as a single solitary thought as to the beastly creature that the skin had once encapsulated before it was wrapped around a pair of high heels.

I thought of not walking near the skin out there in the courtyard. But that would mean the flowers wouldn't get watered and the birds wouldn't have fresh water. Back around the house I went to get the broom, and I used it to sweep away the skin of that blasted snake. I was going to put it into the trash but the breeze caught the skin and it drifted towards the front pasture. Fine. If that's where it wanted to be.... I picked up the skin with the broom and tossed the skin into the just-mowed field. With any luck, when the guy with hay baling machine comes by, he'll pick up the skin with one of the bales.

Do cows eat snake skin when it's mixed up into a bale of hay?  Probably not.

Will I ever again buy a pair of heels made of snake skin?  Definitely not.

Got hay?

Yes, we do.  The hay mowers have been here for the past two days to cut down the nearly thigh-high grasses. They will let the hay sit there for a day or so to dry out and then they'll be back with the baling machines.

As a result of the cut hay, we have vultures circling our property, searching for mice and heaven-only-knows-what-else was hiding in that tall grass for the past few months. (I sincerely hope there wasn't a mama rabbit and her baby bunnies out there.)  I've learned not to look out over the property from the third floor windows after the hay is cut down, for that very reason. Plus, I don't want to see those huge birds fighting over their afternoon snack. ("No! That's my mouse! I saw it first!")

The orange cat turned up his nose at the bowl of Meow Mix yesterday, which makes me think that he's been catching mice as they run out of the pastures to escape the huge tractors and mowers. That cat will always be a wild cat, I think, preferring to eat a fresh-caught mouse rather than a packaged cat food product from a bag.

Orange Cat.  He's been nicer lately, letting us pet him, and he follows me from one end of the yard to the other, meowing all the way. He's still the most vocal cat I've ever heard, but he has quit meowing loudly every time he comes up on the porch. I think he has learned that if he announces his presence, Gatsby will get his whiskers in a knot and pounce on that orange cat.

Still, I don't trust that orange cat. We can't get him into a crate to get him shots at the vet... he isn't fixed and heaven only knows how many female cats he's "caught" since he's been here.  One day, he's going to show up on our porch with his kitty-mama and their kittens.  I guess I haven't changed my mind, no matter how much that cat's manners have improved.... I do not want that orange cat.

Every last goat...

Just as we sat down for lunch this afternoon, I heard the sad little cries of a baby goat. Nothing unusual about that around here, but those cries seemed to be awfully close.  Just at the moment when I was about to get up and look out the door, Sweet Pea jumped up to his window and was watching the driveway with that wide-eyed stare that cats get when they see something out of the ordinary.

And there were the goats... every single one of the neighbor's herd... in our driveway and on the grass in front of the guest cottage... munching on the lawn and trying to grab the lower branches of the small live oak trees.  Give me a blessed break.

My husband and I both went outside.... I was clapping my hands as if I were a school teacher trying to get students in line... and my husband was blasting the air horn, which quickly got the attention of the goats. (The hand-clapping didn't do a thing.)  Down the driveway they all went, across the road, and then the goats all lined up near the neighbor's fence as they waited their turn to squeeze themselves underneath the corner of that fence. One by one, they all got back under the fence and into their own pasture... all the while, that same neighbor's horse and his cows were standing in that pasture and watching the goats, and watching my husband and I as we looked at the goats scrambling back under that fence.  Funny thing about those goats... they always seem to go back into their own pasture the same way they came out.

You would think that neighbor would just fix the damn fence.  My husband looked at the space where the goats were crawling through... one or two solid cinder-blocks would fix that problem. Next time we're in Home Depot, my husband will buy one or two of those concrete blocks. If the neighbor won't fix the fence, then we'll just put up a barrier in that spot and hope the goats don't start digging out from a different place in that blasted fence.

What? No peacock?

Haven't seen the peacock in over a week now... haven't even heard him lately.  Even when that bird isn't on our porch munching on the Meow Mix for the cats, we can hear him down the hill calling out for his imaginary mate. Love springs eternal for that beautiful bird. Maybe he wandered off to other parts of the hills here looking for the feathered love of his colorful life.

Orange Cat, however, is still here. Eternally still here. That once-stray cat has gotten so used to the goings-on around our porch that he no longer runs away when neighbors come by for a visit. The orange cat has also made friends with our latest handyman, watching him pulling up weeds and working in the yard, and not even running to hide when handyman R walks within inches of that cat's whiskers.

This afternoon as the handyman came up onto the porch to let me know he was leaving for the day, Orange Cat turned towards him and stretched and yawned and just turned over and resumed his nap. As I opened up the kitchen door, I heard R telling that cat "You sure do have it made in the shade here."  And indeed the orange cat does.  Fresh water, an endless supply of Meow Mix, porch furniture to nap on, a plush back-door mat for naps, and even Mickey and Gatsby seem to have gotten accustomed to the orange cat being here now on a 24/7 schedule.  Come to think of it, Orange Cat hasn't disappeared lately.  He used to go off for a day or two, looking for female cats, I would guess, and then come back meowing loudly on the porch because he was hungry.  Not only has the orange cat become less vocal, he's also becoming more well-mannered. He hasn't tried to scratch me in over a week now.

My husband has taken to calling him Pumpkin Kitty.  I keep calling him Orange Cat, and sometimes just "That Cat."  My husband insists that he needs a real name........... I continue to insist that he needs another porch, another home, preferably in another county. I would not miss that orange cat if he went off and just stayed away.

I do miss the peacock, though.  It was nice to have Mr. Carson strutting his feathered self back and forth on our porch every other day or so.   We saw a bob-cat walking around our property a couple of weeks ago, and now I'm hoping that the wild cat didn't make his way down the hill to discover not only Mr. Carson but a coop filled with chickens at the neighbor's property on the other side of the road down there.

Weeds and mulch....

... and no, I am not doing either.  As I type, Handyman #2 is outside working in the flowerbeds around the house. He's been working here off and on for the past few weeks, giving us time when he's not scheduled at his regular job with the plumbing company. He's been here a lot lately, on the weekdays, so we're wondering if he still works for that company. (We haven't asked.)

My husband hasn't called Handyman #3 back here since the day he took it upon himself to trim the pecan trees in the backyard. We hadn't asked him to do that, the trees didn't need it, and even if they did need trimming, this is not the right time of the year to be messing around with those particular trees.  Lesson learned: Tell Handyman #3 what to do, then check him in ten minutes to make sure he's doing what you asked him to do. (Or, just call Handyman #2, and don't call Handyman #3 unless you're desperate.)

This particular handyman goes through the buckets of mulch as fast as my husband can haul them back from the tree-recycle place in town.  It would be much simpler for us to get a truck-bed filled with mulch. The only problem is that we don't own a truck, city-people that we are.  I don't even know if my husband still qualifies as a city-person, given the number of buckets of mulch he has shoveled up since we've owned this property.  My husband has taken it upon himself to do a lot of un-city-like chores since we moved out here. For someone who hardly ever got his hands dirty, he's used an awful lot of hand-cleaner since we bought this house.

And goodness knows, I am no help out here. I started out with good intentions.... weeding flowerbeds and putting down mulch and planting flowers. The flowerbeds in the backyard looked quite good, considering I am by no means a gardener.  But then the rains came, and the weeds grew, and the flowerbeds were suddenly populated with little green lizards and thin black snakes who liked to hide amongst the weeds.  The flowerbeds looked like I hadn't ever done anything to them at all.

Time is precious. Time spent pulling up weeds and putting down mulch is time one will never get back. Is that how I want to spend my time?  No.  Hence... the handymen.

Wildlife adventures...

There is just always, always, always something...

Last night, I had a small dish of food on the porch for Orange Cat, which I usually take inside before dark.  Well... I forgot.... and the Meow Mix was out there right by the door and a raccoon came up and started eating it, while Orange Cat sat there on the doormat and just watched him. What happened to the days when that orange cat chased away the raccoons?  Is he getting too soft and too pudgy now that he's being fed on a regular basis?

My husband happened to hear noise on the porch and opened the door... and found the raccoon right there...... so he grabbed an umbrella, opened the door and pointed my very pretty pink umbrella at the raccoon as if it were a gun. The raccoon went running for the hills, and Orange Cat just sat there on the doormat, wide-eyed and stunned and wondering what on earth was happening. That cat just stared at my husband and couldn't take his eyes off of the umbrella. (Maybe pink is the cat's favorite color.)

As all of that was happening, I was in the kitchen and just watching from a distance. When my husband came back inside and started to close the door, I noticed a scorpion on the molding around the inside of the door frame. I handed the Dust-Buster-thing to my husband and asked him to use it to get the scorpion. Well, he tried that, but it just didn't work on the recessed molding. The scorpion just sat there looking at him.

"Get me the hammer," said my husband.......... and that's what he used (one good whack) to squash the scorpion into the next life, and then into the trash.

My husband said he'd never seen a scorpion up so high before... usually they're on the floor. I reminded my husband that when we first moved here, scorpions were falling out of the air-conditioning vents on the ceiling. That doesn't happen anymore because my husband put fine mesh netting in those ducts, so now the scorpions have to find other paths to find a way down from the depths of the attic. And they do, I've no doubt.

Another day in this country bubble.

Not exactly a cat named Bob...

It had to happen sooner or later.... neighbors have told us about seeing bobcats on their properties, but until last night, we hadn't had the pleasure.

Just after dinner-time yesterday... not dark at all... and my husband happened to look out of the kitchen window over the sink. And there by the gazebo was the bobcat.  My husband called me to come quick and look, saying "What on earth is that?"  Lots of spots, walking slowly, short stubby tail.... I saw the animal as it left the side lawn and went underneath the iron fence and out into the pasture. I told my husband that was a bobcat and he said "No way!"                                              

Yes. Way indeed. That animal was definitely not a dog (walking too slowly), definitely not a cat (tail not long enough nor even short enough to be a Manx), and most definitely not a fox (not quick enough).

This morning I spoke to friend C, who described what a bobcat looked like, and exactly what she said was exactly what was out on our lawn yesterday. Then I looked up 'Texas bobcat' on Google and found the same spotted stubbed-tailed cat that was out by our gazebo. Oh goodie.

Well, I guess we've really arrived in the Hill Country. Our first bobcat. At least the first one we've seen on the property... I'm sure there must have been a whole bunch more that we never did see. Friend C told me that the bobcats will travel quite far... they don't just stay in one area.  She didn't think the bobcats would bother our cats... she said they usually hunt for birds and chickens.

Just one more thing to add to our list of unwanted critters and creatures on the property here. As I said.... Oh goodie.

Birds of a feather...

As I type, we have a handyman out in the garden pulling up weeds and putting down fresh mulch on top of old newspapers. According to the Pinterest gardening gods, the newspapers should last for two years before they start to break down and become one with the earth.

While the handyman was working, he found a baby bird trying to walk in the grass. Clearly, the tiny bird was either tossed out of its nest or fell out.  We couldn't find the nest out in that part of the yard, but we had a nest of baby barn swallows on the porch that seemed to be about the same size. My husband got out the ladder and put the lost baby bird into the nest on the porch.

I thought it was such a great idea, but apparently, the mama barn swallow of that nest didn't agree. Between the mama bird and her mate, they managed to drag that baby bird out of its adopted nest and they let it fall to the porch. I don't know how long the baby bird was on the porch, but when I saw the poor thing, it was surrounded by two of the outside cats--- Gatsby and Orange Cat. Neither cat bothered the tiny bird, but they were so intent on watching it that they hardly noticed me as I came along and scooped up that baby bird before either cat could claim it as a snack.

The poor little bird didn't last too long anyway.... as I was trying to feed it some warm water with an eye-dropper, it took its last gasping breath and that was that.  Baby birds just never make it when they've left the nest before they've been fed enough and are ready to fly. We've tried (and failed) with other baby birds since we've been out here.

What really amazed me is that the mama bird knew right away that there was an impostor in her nest.  I guess we won't be messing around with any of the nests in the future. It's just a shame that once those baby birds leave their nests, they're on their own whether they're ready or not.

I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

The peacock has been on our porch since early this morning. Actually, he was here last night just before dark and I think he slept up in our mesquite tree because he was here bright and early looking for his breakfast. (Meow Mix. Recommended by 4 out of 5 peacocks in the Hill Country.)

This peacock (Mr. Carson by name) has been very vocal all day long. I don't know if it's because of the rain today or maybe this is a particularly lonesome time for him and he's searching desperately for a mate.  His constant honking (which sounds like an air horn) reverberates throughout the house and I'm sure can be heard all over the hills here.  About half an hour ago, our across-the-road neighbor proved the fact of the peacock's ability to broadcast his love songs.

The across-the-road and down-the-hill neighbor is the one with the goats and the cows... those goats are the same ones who either jump over his fence or crawl under it and come across the road and onto our property. When that happens, I go out there with an air horn to scare them back into their own pastures and away from our wildflowers and our pond. (Our property is also fenced, but these fences just cannot stop those goats when they're determined to travel.)  When I'm outside with the air horn, that neighbor comes out to gather up his goats, he apologizes to me that they got out, and I always resist the urge to ask him why he just doesn't fix the fence so the goats can't escape.

With the honking of the peacock today, both my husband and I said that Mr. Carson sounded just like the air horn. Well, the neighbor with the goats must have thought the same thing because he did what he always does when he hears me out there with the air horn.... he came down his hill in his truck, and then up our hill, looking for his wayward goats with the intention of herding them up with the truck and getting them into their own pasture.

So here came the neighbor.... driving slowly and looking for his goats (which were indeed still in their own field)...... and the peacock kept up his honking... but because Mr. Carson was on the back of our porch, I'm sure the neighbor didn't see him.  Up and down our road went the neighbor, looking for stray goats while Mr. Carson honked out his mating calls that probably could wake up the dead.  I saw what was happening through my kitchen window, and thought about going out there to explain to the neighbor that the noises he was hearing was the peacock, not the air horn.

But then.... I thought of all the senseless neglect that the neighbor has for his pets and his livestock.... and I decided in a split second not to go out there and tell him about the honking of the peacock.  So I just stayed in the kitchen and watched through the window.

Up and down the road went the neighbor.... and because his goats heard the rattles and puffs of his old truck, they all came towards the perimeter of that field... towards the road... and jumped the fence. So there was the neighbor now.... trying to get that old truck of his to pick up speed so he could round up his goats and get them back over the fence and into his pasture.  And there I was.... laughing at this country comedy.... feeling sorry for those goats (as I always do) and silently applauding Mr. Carson and his lovesick honking that got the neighbor searching for his goats who were right where they belonged until they heard his truck going back and forth on the road.

As I type, the neighbor is still out there in the road with his truck, and he's trying to make some sort of repairs on the corner of his fence, probably hoping to restrain the goats.  And the peacock.... he's still outside on our back porch, looking through the window of our TV room and making googly-eyes at our cat Sweet Pea.

Peacocks and scorpions...

From the sublime to the ridiculous.... which is the way of life here in this country bubble.

As I type, the neighbor's peacock (whom I have named Mr. Carson) is out on our porch gobbling up what's left in the bowl of Meow Mix that's out there for the cats.  Actually, I shouldn't say 'gobbling up' in reference to that beautiful bird because he eats quite delicately for a bird of his size. (Is that comment politically correct? Probably not, but nothing seems to be 'politically correct' these days anyway.)

Mr. Carson will eat up the Meow Mix, then walk across the porch and into the yard, and then fly up into the mesquite tree by our backyard deck. And there he will sleep till morning, high up in those branches where (hopefully) he is safe from night-time predators like coyotes, bob-cats, snakes, and huge raccoons.

Earlier today, my husband was out in the garage intending to mow the grass by the barn inbetween the bursts of rain-showers that we've been having.  Taking either the push-mower or the riding mower out of the garage means opening up the garage door, and as he was doing that, he got stung by a scorpion. He came into the house saying "I guess you didn't hear me scream out there?" -- which sounded funny to me because that's my line.  I've said those very words thousands upon thousands of times when I've seen something out on the property that these mascara-ed eyes were just not meant to see.

The scorpion sting was very clearly on his hand, and we put Neosporin on it before covering it up with a bandaid.  (I resisted the urge to tell my husband that I didn't have any Spiderman bandaids.) Then my husband decided to check the Internet for information on scorpion stings instead of mowing the lawn. Which happened to be a good decision because the pouring-down rain started about ten minutes after the scorpion got him.  Since moving out here to the Hill Country six years ago, we've seen hundreds of scorpions but this is the first time either one of us has been stung. (Our neighbors would call that "beginner's luck.")

It's getting dark outside now, which means I have to go out on the porch and take up the bowl of cat food. If I leave it out there and a raccoon comes up on the porch for a midnight snack, he will take that bowl and turn it upside-down or toss it to the other end of the porch. Either the raccoons don't much care for Meow Mix or they're dissatisfied because there's not enough of it in the bowl.  You never know with raccoons... they're very judgmental and usually very destructive. Just another blip in the country bubble.

Welcome to my world....

There are mornings when I shake my head in wonder.  (And wonder what we're doing out here.)

On the porch first thing this morning:

1. The orange cat, waiting for his Meow Mix.
2. Mr. Carson (the neighbor's peacock), waiting for the orange cat's Meow Mix.
3. A tarantula, waiting for heaven only knows what.


The orange cat has had his breakfast and is now sleeping on the picnic table on the back deck.   Carson has had his own bowl of Meow Mix and is right now staring into the breakfast room windows and watching me as I type.
The tarantula has had a blast of wasp spray and was last seen crawling underneath the red-bud bushes by the back porch. (I chose to spray that tarantula because the last time I saw one on the porch, my husband captured him in a plastic container and tossed him out into the pasture.... my guess is he either found his way back or there are more tarantulas than we can count out there.)


Life in the country. Glorious. Oh well.

Must. Change. Attitude.

Picking peaches....

We've gone to the peach orchard twice this season, and hand-picked so many beautiful fresh peaches. How much fresher can they be?  Picked right from the trees, very early in the morning before the bees and wasps come out to play.  Never let it be said that a good pair of boots doesn't help with peach-picking.... you don't have to worry about where you're stepping because the leather boots will protect you from just about anything that's under those trees. (Well, I guess they wouldn't protect you from a rattlesnake, but let's not put that thought out into the universe or I'll never again go to that peach farm.)

The days have been glorious since the rains stopped.... we might get thundershowers this weekend, but for now, the weather is beautiful, with sunny blue skies and just enough heat to let you know that summer is here but hasn't been set up to broiling yet.  That will come.... probably in just a couple of weeks.

The neighbor's goats.... they continue to get out of the fence over there. If they're not on our property, I just ignore them. When the neighbor notices that his livestock have either jumped over or crawled under his fence, he comes driving down his hill and then up our hill, intending to scare the goats back into their own pasture.  That neighbor used to have two dogs who helped him herd the goats, but no one has seen the dogs in a couple of months now. Heaven only knows what happened to them... both of the dogs were loyal to their owner, but that particular neighbor isn't exactly animal-friendly, whether it be to his dogs or his livestock.  Up here, one has to just turn around and not look, especially when a property owner like that is raising goats for the meat, not for companionship.  And there are days when I hear a baby goat crying for all he's worth over there across the hill, and I just know that the neighbor has selected his dinner.

Those are the days when I cannot, just cannot, sit out on the porch.  I've said it before, and I'll say it again... sometimes it hurts my heart to live up here.

Got spiders?

No, of course not. We don't have itsy-bitsy spiders here, we have tarantulas. Literally.  And that's exactly what I found on the floor when I walked into the garage this morning: one huge black tarantula. Oh goodie.

Thankfully, my husband was home, and he was right in the kitchen, so I called out across the breezeway and asked him to come outside and take care of our visitor. My husband managed to capture the tarantula in a plastic container which had a lid. I don't know where he brought it.... out back by the barn, probably.  And I hope he tossed the tarantula out into the field so it would crawl off away from the house, not towards the house.  Just what I don't need is a tarantula who is able to find his way back into the garage.

That's one of my (many) fears out here... finding something crawling inside my car when I get into it. With the black interior of my car, I'd have a hard time seeing a fuzzy black tarantula or a dark brown snake in that car.  How would that be on a tombstone: "Death occurred when driver was surprised by an unknown visitor in her vehicle."

Give me a blessed break.  But on the bright side... the sunflowers that have popped up in the backyard are just gloriously beautiful, and the Orange Cat (still here, of course) has been learning some good manners.  And today is a beautiful day. So there. I guess that's something.

Bits and pieces...

The peacock.... 'Mr. Carson' is still here, waiting by the back door on most mornings (along with the orange cat).  When I open the door, Carson gets up from his resting spot and walks a few feet away from the door. He watches me put down a bowl of cat food for him and a separate one for the orange cat, and then after Orange Cat starts eating, Carson begins. (That peacock is so polite, just like Mr. Carson of 'Downton Abbey.') I can hear the bird's beak hitting the bowl each time he pulls up a piece of the Meow Mix.  I've tried giving the peacock bits of fruits and vegetables, but he prefers the cat food.  Maybe that's what they feed him down the hill at his 'real' home.

The orange cat.... still here. Of course he's still here... he likes the company of our two outside cats (Mickey and Gatsby) and now he has his very own peacock (Mr. Carson).  What more could a stray cat possibly want?  Orange Cat isn't as aggressive as he used to be, but every once in a while, he forgets his manners and either myself or my husband gets a scratch on our wrists as we put the food down on the porch.  We happened to catch a program called "My Cat From Hell" on the Animal Planet channel, and there was a similar situation with a cat who became aggressive at feeding time.  The cat expert on that show says that cats who are born outside and spend most of their younger lives as strays, they most likely have to fight for their food.  That must be the problem with Orange Cat, who found his way here as an adult, not a kitten.  After all this time (over a year) he still hasn't learned that no one on our porch is going to steal his Meow Mix, and when he finishes what's in the bowl, there's an entire bag of cat food in the house for him. (That cat still wears down my patience.)

The sunflowers.... they're growing taller and taller each day, and forming hundreds, if not thousands, of seeds in the center of the blooms. Gorgeous... and I can hardly believe how thick their stalks are... indeed a very sturdy plant. And to think we have them in the flowerbeds because the birds were dropping seeds from the feeders.  I've told my husband that next time we want to be surprised with flowers, we should just take a handful of birdseed and toss it into the flowerbeds.

The handyman.... our 'old' handyman is no longer here.... not living in the apartment above the barn and not working here. (Too remote out here, and he didn't have a car.) Back to square one.  We found a gem of a handyman, who happens to work for the plumbing company that was here to replace our water heaters a few months back. Problem is, he works all day as a plumber, so he can only be here in the evenings, and Saturdays or Sundays. When he's here, he works quickly and very well, so we have no complaints. So far, so good.  Only problem we had was all the recent rain.... of course he couldn't do outside work on those days, but we've had three days now without a raindrop, so he's back here working whenever he can.

The goats.... still getting out of the neighbor's fence.... still coming onto our property and munching on the wildflowers and the grass, and if we didn't chase them back down the hill (with an air-horn) those goats would probably be up on the porch eating the cat food along with Orange Cat and Carson.

The wasps.... zillions of them. We're buying wasp spray by the case.  My husband says that every time I kill one wasp, it's costing him between three and five dollars. (I tend to just about empty out an entire can... to make sure the wasp is deader than dead because I'm allergic to their sting.)

I eMailed a friend of mine some photos of the peacock... she lives in North Carolina, and she told me she has "peacock-envy for Mr. Carson" because they only get "run-of-the-mill wildlife" where she lives. Well, I sent an eMail right back to her, listing all the extraordinary wildlife we get out here.... and told her that I'd gladly give up that glorious peacock for some 'run-of-the-mill-anything' out here. My husband told me that I need to quit telling people about all the outdoor surprises that we see here on a daily basis..... he said possibly no one visits us because I have scared the living daylights out of them.

Rain, rain, go away....

We have had more rain these past couple of weeks than I can remember seeing here in all the years we've been in this state.  The bayous in and around Houston have flooded over, causing major havoc in the communities there. I can only wonder what it's like in our old sub-division in Clear Lake, with the large bayou that runs down the center of that neighborhood.

As for up here in the hills, we had torrential rains last night which ended before 8:30 pm.... and then we had the most beautiful sunset. My husband went outside to take pictures, and we noticed a rainbow that arced from the sky beyond our driveway to the sky over our pond... certainly the largest rainbow I'd ever seen.

While my husband was taking pictures of the rainbow, there was lightning in the sky off in the distance, and he captured that in the same photo with the rainbow. One would think he had photo-shopped the rainbow into the lightning picture (which he could very well do) but I was out there with him on the porch so I know the rainbow/lightning photos were legitimate.

As if yesterday's rain wasn't enough, we had another rainstorm early this morning at 5:00, and for the next ten days, we have a 40% chance of afternoon thunder-showers.  The ground here is already soaked through with yesterday's heavy rain, and certainly the city of Houston doesn't need another drop of rain while they're waiting for the high water levels to recede.  Millions of dollars' worth of water damage has been sustained in and around the Houston area.

Translation: This is one morning that I've looked out the window and thanked my lucky stars to be up here in the Hill Country.